


Heirloom

by fierceinferno



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Development, Established Relationship, Greece, Grief/Mourning, HP: EWE, M/M, Malfoy Family Secrets, Off-Screen Suicide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Redeemed Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 06:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fierceinferno/pseuds/fierceinferno
Summary: The morning after his Death Eater Trial, Lucius Malfoy kills himself. Eight days later, Draco Malfoy uncovers a family secret that changes everything.





	Heirloom

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the sleeping at last song by the same name
> 
> many thanks to M for the endless confidence and support
> 
> enjoy kiddos

_You remind me of who I could have been,_  
_Had I been stronger and braver way back then._  
_A million choices, though little on their own,_  
_Became the heirloom of the heaviness we’ve known._  
_~Heirloom, Sleeping At Last_

**

Draco grips Harry’s hand tighter, staring unblinkingly at the rich wood of the door before him. Harry nudges Draco gently, a comforting elbow pressed to his side. Draco snaps his gaze over to his boyfriend, who flashes his famous rugged-savior smile. The one he wears on the Daily Prophet covers, the one he uses to mask the pain and the fear. It’s the only smile of his that Draco can’t stand to look at. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Draco whispers, immediately scoffing at himself because obviously he doesn’t want to do this, and yet he knows he has to, so what good is voicing his reluctance? Harry doesn’t say anything in response, just squeezes his hand. And that’s more than enough. Draco doesn’t deserve Harry, not really. 

He braces himself, then casts the necessary spells to lift the wards on the door. He exhales in satisfaction when he hears the last lock click. _Weren’t as good as you thought, were you Father?_ Draco enters the room, head held high, feeling no resistance through their linked hands as Harry follows close behind. 

His father’s study looks exactly as it had last Sunday, which was the day before Lucius Malfoy turned his wand on himself and uttered two words to end his life. That had been the day of the Malfoy Death Eater trials. It had also been the day that Lucius found out that not only was his son and sole heir in love with the boy who killed his master, but said son had convinced Narcissa to turn against Voldemort and become a spy for the Order of the Phoenix with him.The next day he killed himself, leaving behind nothing but a note stating “I would rather be alone in death than with betrayers in life.” But that was Father, Draco thinks bitterly, melodramatic and too proud for his own good until the very end. 

But yes, the study looks unchanged. Draco doesn’t know what he’d expected, honestly. For the velvet armchair by the fireplace to look like it hadn’t been used in decades? For the heavy tomes weighing down the bookshelf to gather dust from disuse? It’s only been a week after all. Still, it feels wrong somehow, that this room looks the same while Lucius’s death has left such a gaping hole in Draco’s chest. Perhaps he has inherited his father’s melodrama after all. 

Draco begins to walk around the room, lightly skimming his fingertips along the ornate maroon wallpaper as he goes. “It feels so weird being in here without him. Empty, almost,” he muses. Harry hums in quiet acknowledgment, still holding Draco’s hand as they drift around the room. 

“I keep thinking he’ll storm in here and tell me off for snooping,” Draco says, making Harry chuckle softly. Harry’s laugh is one of Draco’s favorite sounds, but his enjoyment of it is cut short by a corner of the wallpaper lifting up and catching his fingers. Draco’s attention is abruptly demanded by the flap of wallpaper, a single flaw in the otherwise opulent study. He doesn’t know why he fixates on it, but he does and he realizes he will not be at peace until he finds out why this piece of the wall is daring to disrespect his father’s safe place. 

“Pass me the letter opener in the top drawer would you?” he asks Harry absently, using his fingers to pick at the offending flap in the meantime. Harry obliges, swapping out his hand in Draco’s left for the silver instrument. Draco carefully maneuvers the letter opener under the flap and begins to lift away the paper, sliding upwards inch by inch. He jumps back in surprise when something slips out from under the paper and lands where his feet had been. 

“What is it?” Harry asks, standing on his toes so he can peer over Draco’s shoulder. 

Draco leans down to pick it up. “It’s a notebook,” he informs his boyfriend, turning the soft black leather of the binding over in his hands. It's very thin, thin enough to fit behind the wallpaper without making it bulge out. But why was it there in the first place? 

“It’s not a very… wizard-y way to hide something,” Harry observes, reading Draco’s mind in that eerie way he’s always been able to do. 

“Yeah,” Draco agrees, unsure of what else he can say. He clutches the notebook a little tighter in his trembling hands. 

“Well are you gonna open it?” Harry is getting excited now; Draco can see the gleam in his eyes that he always pretended to hate when they were back in Hogwarts and the precious ‘Golden Trio’ was solving some grand mystery or other. Draco tries to be offended - his father’s life and secrets shouldn’t be some yarn to unravel for Harry Potter’s amusement. _Especially_ for Harry Potter’s amusement, seeing as Lucius tried to kill him more than once. Still, Draco’s curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the front cover. 

It’s blank.

“Of course,” Draco rolls his eyes, “I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.” 

Harry, seemingly unbothered by this setback, brings his wand to the empty page. “May I?” He asks, waiting for Draco to nod before reciting: “ _Revelio._ ” 

A photograph that had been painstakingly spellotaped to the front page of the notebook suddenly materializes. 

“Is that you?” Harry asks, squinting at the picture to get a better look. That terrible eyesight of his, Draco thinks fondly. The boy in the photograph looks about 16, only two years younger than Draco is now. It sure looks like him, with platinum blond hair elegantly swept back from aristocratic features (pointy, harry always corrects teasingly). But it was most certainly not Draco, for he wouldn’t be caught dead in robes that were over 20 years out of fashion. This doppelganger also had an arm slung familiarly around the shoulders of a girl that Draco has never met before. The people in the photo exchange toothy grins and then not-Draco digs his knuckles into the top of the girl’s head and musses her silky blonde hair, causing her to laugh indignantly and try to squirm out of not-Draco’s grip. No, Draco has never done anything that undignified in his life (in public). So if it wasn’t Draco, that meant...

“It’s my father,” Draco breathes in awe. He’s never seen a picture of his father so young, nor so... happy. It’s jarring, to say the least. 

“Oh, wow,” Harry says, “is that your mum then?” 

Draco looks closer at the girl in the photo. “No, I don’t know who that is. But I’ve never seen my father act like that with anyone. She must be important somehow.” 

Harry takes the book from Draco’s frozen hands and flips the page. “Draco, there’s a letter addressed to your father here. It’s in another language, maybe Latin or Greek?” 

Draco grabs the book back, scanning through the pages of writing and only being able to recognize his father’s name mentioned a few times throughout. “Yeah, it’s Greek,” he mutters, still scanning furiously for anything that could help him figure out what in Merlin’s name is going on. He skips over to the last page, reading the signature. ‘Octavia.’ He scans his memory for anyone that he ever met that may be named Octavia, but he comes up blank. 

“Wouldn’t happen to know any translator spells? Or anyone named Octavia?” Draco looks to Harry hopelessly, and Harry seems to deflate. 

“Hermione would definitely know a spell but she’s in Australia,” he hooks his chin on Draco’s shoulder and wraps his arms around him, kissing the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, babe.” 

Draco sighs and feels the tension drain out of him as he relaxes into his boyfriend. How the hell can Harry always calm him down in an instant? Draco is not above suspicions of spell involvement on Harry’s part. 

“Wait!” Harry shouts (directly into Draco’s ear, mind), “Kythira!” 

“What in Merlin’s name are you on about?” 

“There,” Harry points at the last page of the letter, right above the signature, “I learned about it in Year 4 geography! Kythira is an island off the coast of Greece. Maybe this Octavia person lives there! We can go track her down.” 

“We don’t even know how long ago this was written, Harry. Octavia could be halfway across the world or even long dead by now.” 

“It’s a start! Better than nothing,” Harry insists. And Draco knows from dating him for the past two years that once Harry’s got his mind set on something there’s no turning back. “We could even turn it into a mini holiday, Godric knows we need it.” Harry tightens his arms around Draco’s waist and kisses his neck again and he is putty in Harry’s hands. Pathetic. 

“When will we leave?” 

“Right now,” Harry whispers before Draco hears a loud ‘pop’ and feels the nauseating sensation of being apparated. They land in a wobbly embrace in the living room of Grimmauld Place, where they’ve both been staying during the trials. 

“Fifteen minutes to pack Draco, no more than that!” Harry calls, already taking off down the hall to get a travel bag. 

“Tosser,” Draco mutters under his breath.

“Fifteen!”

Draco smiles.

**

Twenty five minutes later, Draco lugs his belongings down the last flight of stairs where Harry is waiting, strongly channeling Granger - impatient foot tapping and all. 

“We’re not staying for two months, babe,” Harry remarks upon seeing Draco’s perhaps _slightly_ excessive amount of luggage. Draco rolls his eyes. 

“It takes a lot to make this,” he gestures at his own person, “happen everyday, Harry. You obviously wouldn’t know.” 

Now it’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes and Draco wonders idly whose eyes will roll out of their head sooner. He voices this aloud and Harry smiles exasperatedly and holds his hand out for Draco to take. Another ‘pop’ and they’re off. Draco doesn’t know where, but as long as he’s with Harry he knows he’ll be alright. 

**

“Where in the hell are we, Harry?” Draco asks, sweating and tired of climbing dusty hills in a three piece black suit in the midst of summer. 

“Chora,” Harry replies happily, unhelpfully, a few energetic paces in front of Draco. This is Harry in his element - off to save the day again. Draco would be beyond pissed off if he didn’t love him so much. 

“Mind telling me what we’re doing in Chora?” he asks through gritted teeth. Dust is getting in his mouth. He is not cut out for this adventuring thing. 

“We’re going to the Historical Archive of Kythira to see if there’s any information on any Octavias.” 

That... actually isn’t a terrible idea. Draco doesn’t plan on telling Harry that, though. 

“I know it’s a good idea, thank you” Harry continues without even looking back at Draco (how does he do that?), “I read about the Historical Archive in Sirius’s library and it seemed like the best place to start.” 

They finally - _finally_ \- reach the Historical Archive and Harry’s hand is inches from the door when Draco panics. 

“Wait!” 

Harry turns around, eyebrows raised placatingly, waiting for Draco to continue. 

“What if…” Draco pauses, words stuck in his throat.

“What is it Draco?” Harry prompts gently.

“What if I find out something that - that I don’t want to know?” 

Because that’s been his issue this whole time. His annoyance with Harry’s tenacity at solving the mystery, his petulant complaining as they walked up the hill. Part of him doesn’t want to dive any deeper into his father’s dark and messy past. 

Harry must see the vulnerability in Draco’s eyes because he immediately softens and walks over to his boyfriend. He gently takes the notebook that Draco hasn’t stopped gripping this whole time, and opens it to the front page with the photograph of his father and this Octavia woman smiling widely at each other. 

“Do you see your dad’s face here, Draco? How he looks at this girl? How in Godric’s name could this be a bad thing?” 

And Draco realizes that, yeah, his father had done a lot of fucked up shit, for lack of a better phrase. But he never seemed to take any particular enjoyment in any of it. This was clearly a different case.

“Ok,” Draco relents, grabbing Harry’s hand and lacing their fingers together, “Let’s go in.” 

Harry smiles that proud smile he gives Draco sometimes, the one that always makes Draco simultaneously want to scoff and blush and kiss Harry until he can’t breathe. Yeah, he loves that smile. 

They walk into the Historical Archive together and up to the front desk where a stout Greek woman is sitting on a stool, reading a huge book and absentmindedly swinging her feet. 

Harry clears his throat awkwardly. The woman looks up, blinking startled eyes at them from behind owlish glasses. Draco has to try immensely hard to contain an endearing snort because she reminds him so much of Harry whenever Draco interrupts his train of thought.

“Hi,” Harry starts, uncertain, “Umm.. English?” 

The woman smiles kindly. “Little bit,” she says in a heavy Greek accent, pinching two fingers together to signify her minimal understanding of the language. 

Harry’s face lights up. “Brilliant! We’re looking for a recent census of the island.” 

The woman, whose name card reads ‘Sofronia’, shakes her head sadly, “History archive. No recent.” 

“Can we find a phone book or something anywhere?” Harry asks, desperation tingeing his voice. 

“Harry, even if we could find a phone book do you really expect to find the right Octavia? How many Octavias could there possibly be on this island?” 

Sofronia starts waving her arms wildly, short stubby limbs almost overpowering her frame with their ferocity. Startled, Harry and Draco look back toward her. 

“Octavia! I know!” 

Harry and Draco look at each other skeptically. Sofronia hops off of her stool and bustles around the desk to stand in front of them, full pout and hands on her hips like a disappointed grandmother. 

“Listen! Octavia, I know. Kapsali, she lives. I get map!” And she hurries away before either of them can say anything.

Harry turns to Draco and shrugs. Draco, ever the realist, sighs in response.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Harry. Like I said, how many Octavias could there be?” 

Sofronia returns with a small fold-up map of the island. She circles a point on the coastline, and then circles another a few miles inland. She points to the inland coordinate and says, “you here now.” She points to the coastline and says, “Kapsali here. Forty minute walk. Kapsali Kabanas, ask for Alexandria.” 

“Thank you very much Sofronia,” Draco says sincerely, “but to be sure, could you tell me if your Octavia looks like this?” He holds up the photograph from the notebook for her. She squints and looks closer at it, just like Harry did. Again Draco fights the urge to snort (it would be very unbecoming). 

Sofronia smiles gently. “Ahh, Octavia, so young and beautiful. Still beautiful. Look like you,” She looks up at Draco, then back at the photo. “Yes,” she says, simply and definitively, before turning away and going back to her stool and her book. “ _kalí týchi,_ ” she waves absentmindedly, already immersing herself in her book once again. 

“I like her,” Harry states when they get back out into the hot Greek sun. 

Draco scoffs. “Of course you do. She was like a terrifying crossbreed of you and Granger in a grandmother’s body,” he shuddered at the thought. 

Draco notices that Harry wisely chooses to ignore that. “To Kapsali?” 

Draco nods. “To Kapsali.”

**

“Why didn’t we apparate again?” He pants roughly thirty five minutes later, Italian loafers grasped in his sweaty hand and Kapsali sand burning his feet with every step. 

“Maybe because it's a beautiful day and we’re on a beautiful island that we’ve never been to before and I wanted to spend some time alone with you and your beautiful face,” Harry chirps jovially, walking alongside Draco and occasionally pressing kisses to his flushed cheeks. Draco is caught between pretending to be annoyed by it and turning his face so he can kiss him properly. The waters of the Mediterranean lap at their feet as Draco decides on the latter and a forty minute walk turns into a forty five minute walk. 

They finally see a sign reading ‘Kapsali Kabanas’ followed by six picturesque beach cabanas. The first one is the largest of the group and has a sign on the door identifying it as the ‘rental office’. 

Draco nearly cries out in relief as he walks inside and is blasted by cool air. Thank Merlin for air condiddling, or whatever it was called. Draco groans out his gratitude for muggle technology and collapses onto a nearby sofa. Harry shoots him an exasperated (yet fond, always fond) look and approaches the desk. 

Draco shuts his eyes and listens while Harry charms the woman at the desk with small talk. Harry has such a way with people, Draco muses lazily, feeling himself lulling into sleep. It's different from his own charm, which is mostly driven by intimidation. Draco thinks most people just want to be Harry’s best friend once they meet him. And not even for his fame, just because he’s so genuine and real. Draco doesn’t know how he got so lucky, to be honest. 

Just before he drifts off completely, he’s brought back to consciousness by Harry lifting Draco’s legs so he can fit on the sofa and placing them back in his lap after he’s sat down. 

“Alexandria is so brilliant, Draco, really kind but a wit like a spitfire. She runs the cabanas with Octavia, who is her wife. she calls her ‘Tavi’, how cute is that? Why don’t we have nicknames for each other, Drakey?” He asks mockingly, adopting a sickly sweet voice that makes Draco want to jinx him. 

“Hell no,” Draco insists in sleepy defiance. He hears Harry laugh and takes the time to listen and appreciate it, allowing it to settle into his bones. 

“Octavia won’t be back until tonight, but I reserved a cabana for three nights so we can stick around and get to hear her side of the story,” Harry continues. 

A cabana. On the beach. In Greece. For three days. Bless Harry’s soul. 

“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?” 

Harry pretends to think. “Not that I can remember,” he says teasingly, “you might have to tell me again to jog my memory.” 

“Well I do,” Draco says, kicking at Harry’s leg affectionately, “a whole lot.”

Just then Alexandria looms over them, nearly cooing at their coupley behavior yet obviously trying to compose herself. “Can I get you boys water or other drink? Excuse me, but you look like you have just run a marathon,” she giggles gently. 

“Thank you, Alex, but I think we’ll just get to our cabana. I think this one’s going to need a nap.” Draco doesn’t have to open his eyes to know Harry is gesturing towards him and rolling his eyes. He just doesn’t have enough energy to care at the moment. 

“Come on, Draco. Up you get,” Harry says, being patronizing on purpose because he knows how much it annoys Draco. Two can play at that game. 

“Carry me,” Draco whines, holding his arms out to his boyfriend. Alexandria really does coo at that. 

Harry obliges, just as Draco knew he would. “We’ll see you and Octavia for dinner tonight!” He calls over his shoulder as he carries Draco, one arm under his knees and the other cradling his shoulders, out of the cabana and off to their own. 

The next thing Draco feels is his body being dumped onto a cloud. Or maybe it's a bed. Yeah, that sounds more realistic. Comfy as hell bed, though. Perfect for…

“We should fuck,” Draco states, turning his head to the side that he expects Harry to be on (his eyes are still closed). He feels Harry’s lips on his, gentle, oh so gentle. 

“We will, babe. But not right now. You’re tired,” to punctuate his point, Harry starts tucking Draco into the bed. 

“M’not,” Draco protests weakly, defeating his point by burying his face in the pillow and dropping off in less than two minutes. 

**

_Draco is sitting on a bench with a girl with silky blonde hair. He’s never met her before, doesn’t even remember her name, and yet they’re talking and laughing like they’ve known each other all their lives. Draco feels, for once, at ease._

__

__

_And then the girl’s face is morphing. It looks horribly disfigured and grotesque for a moment, features in the wrong place and not there at all at the same time. And then the girl is Tonks. His cousin. Draco feels a lot of things at once, and they threaten to overcome him. They sound like a tidal wave, roaring in his ears. HappinessShameGuiltFearReliefRegretSadness. Is she even alive? Has she been alive this whole time, hiding in this gentle blonde girl who is so opposite of her? Tonks smiles at him briefly. He starts to smile back despite his hesitation. ___

____

__

_But then Tonks looks scared. She starts to scream. She screams and screams and screams until her mouth takes up her whole face and the bones creak and groan until they crack wide open and nothing is left of her face but a black hole. Draco reaches out, but he has no idea what is happening so he’s helpless to stop it. Just like during the battle. Oh God he’s so sorry, Tonks, he’s so sorry._

____

____

_But there’s no Tonks left, no blonde girl either. There’s just a gaping hole where they used to be. Draco drops to his knees and peers desperately into the hole, hoping for a glimpse of Tonks so he can try to save her, if there is anything left to save._

_He discovers that the hole is not a hole at all, but a swirling black pool. It feels dangerous. He can see his blurry reflection in the murky water but something doesn’t look right. He leans closer and freezes in horror at what he sees. He’s not Draco, he’s his father. He’s Lucius. He watches still, helpless, as his own hand grips his wand, rising to his temple. Draco tries to close his eyes to block it out, tries to scream for help, tries tries tries to lower his wand. All he can do is watch as Lucius’s lips move and he hears himself say “avada kedavra” and then he's falling into the hole, down down down…_

Draco jolts awake with a yell. Harry’s by his side in an instant, arms around him, soothing him as he trembles and shakes and tries to slow his breathing. Draco doesn’t feel embarrassed. Neither of them are strangers to nightmares. 

“It’s ok, you’re ok, I’ve got you,” Harry soothes as he rocks Draco back and forth. Draco slows his breathing and buries his face in Harry’s chest. He smells like sandalwood and vanilla and something uniquely Harry. The same scents Draco encountered in sixth year when Slughorn brought Amortentia to class. The same scents that made Draco realize he was well and truly in love with the Boy Who Lived. Harry smelled like coming home. 

“You good?” Harry asks after a few minutes.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” and he is. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” Draco replies, scrubbing his hands over his face, “maybe after I meet her.” 

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing we’re having dinner with her and Alexandria tonight,” Harry says before getting up and heading to the bathroom. “In about an hour, in fact. And I know how long it takes you to get ready so get out of bed, lazy.”

Draco groans and flops back down on the bed. 

**

Alexandria is still behind the front desk when they go back to the rental office. She greets them warmly and Harry in turn offers her a bottle of wine that he must have gone out to buy while Draco was asleep. Not the best brand, but better than what Draco would have expected Harry to choose. Alexandria beams at them both in gratitude and ushers them behind the counter and through a door leading to the rest of the cabana. 

“Your home is lovely, Alexandria,” Draco compliments sincerely. It’s different from the manor in almost every way imaginable. That’s probably why he likes it so much. The squashy blue armchairs and muggle pictures everywhere, genuine smiles frozen on unmoving faces. Abstract artwork hanging proudly on every wall and wildly unkempt plants taking up every corner. Love seeping from every crack in the creaky wooden floor. 

“Please, call me Alex. And thank you, we have lived here twenty-two years this February,” Alex says, looking around fondly. “Tavi should be along soon, she is finishing her latest painting and it is impossible to get her out of her studio.” 

“She’s an artist? Did she make any of these?” Draco asks, gesturing around at the paintings all around them. 

“She made all of them,” Alex replies proudly as she walks over to Draco’s side to look at the painting in front of them. It’s a dark piece, navy blues and blacks and dark greys, mingling together with urgent yet careful brushstrokes. 

“It’s beautiful,” Draco says quietly, with reverence, “there’s so much pain there. And love. It’s complicated.” 

Alex hums in response. “She calls this one ‘Father.’” 

Draco can’t help but snort at that. “I can relate,” he dryly tells her. He meets Harry’s eye from across the room, who smiles reassuringly. He was looking at a different painting, one with deep, vibrant reds and oranges and browns. Passionate and courageous and uplifting. What a fucking Gryffindor. 

“You remind me of her, you know,” Alex shares, leaning closer to Draco as if it’s some kind of secret, “when I first met her, twenty-six years ago. She carried herself very proper, like you. But she had a great, wild spirit, waiting to be released, also like you.” 

Draco feels his face flush, and he lowers his eyes to the floor. This woman can see straight through him, it seems. 

“You both remind me of the caged bird,” she muses thoughtfully, resting her hand on Draco’s shoulder, “you will find your key too, _agóri_. If you have not already,” and she casts a sly look in Harry’s direction, whose attention has returned to the red painting. 

Draco thinks that yeah, maybe he has. 

“Sorry I’m late, darling!” A hurricane of a woman tears through the room, brushing by Alex to kiss her cheek and barely sparing a glance at Harry or Draco before rushing off into a different room, hastily calling: “I’ll be back in a mo’, just have to make myself presentable!” in an unfittingly posh accent. 

“Try and hurry, my love, we do not want to keep our guests waiting,” Alex calls after her, though Draco can tell by her tone she’s not truly upset. “I give my apologies,” she says, “When Tavi is working on a piece she gets, what is the word…” she gestures with her hands, drawing circles in the air around her head. 

“Spacey?” Harry guesses, inserting himself into the conversation by stepping up to Draco’s other side. “I know what that’s like. This one,” he nudges Draco playfully, “gets like that whenever I interrupt his studying.” 

“Hard worker, that is good,” Alex nods approvingly at Draco before turning back to Harry, “Yes, as you say, spacey. She should be along soon.” 

As if prompted, Octavia walks back into the room, drying her hands on a dishtowel. She freezes when her grey eyes catch Draco’s. She looks just like the girl from the picture and not at all like her at the same time. This woman has a short crop of messy blonde hair, streaked with a few greys that only complement her eccentricities. This Octavia, though currently looking like a deer in headlights, has lost all of the reservations held by the teenage Octavia in the photograph, and it clearly suits her. This bird has found her key too, it seems. 

“ _Lucius?_ ” she breathes in disbelief after a long moment of staring at Draco. Alex and Harry are looking back and forth between the two like spectators at a duel. Draco clears his throat uncomfortably. 

“Um, no. He’s.. he’s dead. I’m sorry,” he says awkwardly. When she says nothing in reponse, mouth gaping open in shock, Draco decides to cross the room to her and continue, “I’m his son, actually, Draco.” He holds out his hand and Octavia shakes it in a daze. 

“I think I.. I need to sit down,” she says, stumbling a bit. Alexandria rushes over to her and helps lower her into the nearest chair. 

“I know this must come as a bit of a shock,” Draco says, “and I apologize if my presence is unwanted here. My father alienated a lot of people in his lifetime.” 

“Don’t be silly, Draco,” Alex insists kindly, “we would never turn away family.”

“I’m sorry, family?” Harry interjects. 

“But of course,” she frowns at them, as if worried something got lost in translation. 

“You don’t mean to say..” Harry drifts off, looking in horror at Draco. 

“I’m Lucius’s twin sister,” Octavia says quietly, like she’s not really there, like she’s made of smoke, “I’m your aunt.” 

Suddenly, Draco feels like he’s underwater. The voices around him are garbled and senseless and he feels too light, like he’ll drift away if he doesn’t have an anchor. He grabs Harry’s arm. 

“I need some air,” he chokes out. Harry nods and begins leading them towards the door. 

“We’ll be back in a few minutes, you probably need a little space to process everything as well,” Harry says, every inch the rationalist he only is when he has to be. He leads Draco from the cabana and onto the beach. The sun has set and the wind is picking up, causing the tides to angrily thrash against the shore. Draco knows how they feel. 

“How could he never say anything?” He bursts out after taking several gulps of salty cool air, “all these years, _nothing._ Do you know how many times he’s said to me, he’s said ‘now Draco, family _always_ comes first’? Fucking _bullshit._ ” 

He picks up a handful of sand and chucks it towards the sea with all his strength, just be-fucking-cause. Then he falls to his knees, because apparently he’s too fucking weak to throw some sand without collapsing. 

“Why did he do that? Why, Harry?”

Harry looks confused now. “We don’t know the full story yet, love. We’ve got to ask Octavia to answer that for you.”

But Draco isn’t satisfied with that. Fucking Lucius, able to get inside his head even from beyond the grave. “Why did he do this to me?” He’s starting to babble now, and he can feel the lump forming in the back of his throat and no, _fuck_ no. “Why did he leave me to deal with this all by myself?” 

The hopeless look in Harry’s eyes puts him over the edge and he's crying. Sobbing, loud and ugly, chest quivering and big heaving gasps, nose and eyes running like faucets. Bloody fucking great. 

But Harry’s there in a heartbeat, holding him close and whispering sweet things to him like the beautiful, supportive boyfriend he is while Draco cries himself dry into Harry’s shirt. Draco really, really doesn’t deserve him. 

“Why did he leave me, Harry,” his voice breaks as he says it and he hates how helpless he sounds but he just. He doesn’t understand how his father could do that to Draco, to his mother. To himself. “How could he leave me?”

“I don’t know, babe,” Harry says in his ear, “I think he was really depressed for a really long time. He realized that the choices he made were all the wrong ones and in the end, he couldn’t live with what he’d done. I think he did it because he was a decent man who got caught up in a lot of shit he shouldn’t have, and he got in too deep.”

Draco sniffles (pathetically, he might add). “But I could’ve helped him, Harry. I could’ve gotten him out like I got myself and Mum out. But I didn’t. And now he’s dead and it’s my fucking fault.” He buries his face back into Harry’s chest and tries not to start sobbing uncontrollably again. 

“It is not your fault, Draco,” Harry says with that passionate ferocity and Draco knows without looking that his bright eyes are burning with it. “Your father made a choice. Yes, it affected you, more than you want to admit if you ask me, but you did not force him to kill himself, and don’t ever think you did.”

And Draco knows that. He does. He’s just being irrational because fuck he misses his father. And that’s ridiculous because Lucius was distant with Draco at the best of times and emotionally abusive at the worst. He didn’t even _like_ his father all that much. 

“I didn’t cry once after he died. Not when we found him, not through the funeral, nothing,” Draco notes once his breathing has returned to normal. He forces a dry chuckle past his wrecked throat. 

“You were probably in shock, love. Even you aren’t that heartless,” Harry teases gently, making Draco smile in gratitude just for him trying to lighten the mood. Draco loves him, so much. 

“Thank you,” Draco says, looking up at Harry for the first time since what he is now referring to in his head as The Breakdown. 

Harry smiles, big and lopsided, and kisses each of his tear-stained cheeks before scrambling up and offering a hand to help Draco stand. “You ready to go back? I’m starving and Alex looks like a fantastic cook.”

Draco chuckles and accepts his hand. Yeah, he’s ready. 

** 

“I apologize for my behavior earlier,” Octavia says to Harry and Draco as she places a steaming dinner on the table in the middle of the four of them. “You gave me quite a shock,” she turns her attention to Draco, “you look just like him, you know. Frozen in time.”

“So people keep telling me,” Draco says politely, hoping he doesn’t sound too bitter. “Either way, please don’t think you behaved inappropriately. If anything, I should be apologizing for approaching the situation so recklessly and then fleeing.” 

“You speak like him too, all proper,” she giggles unabashedly as her wife begins to dish out servings to everyone. Octavia leans a little closer, “At least, when he spoke to his elders,” she adds conspiratorially. “And we do not like to think of ourselves as elders, boys, so kindly let your guards down for tonight.” 

“Thank you, Octavia,” Draco says sincerely, dropping his shoulders as he feels the tension seep out of him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry do the same. “Harry and I really appreciate your hospitality, both of you. And that’s not my ‘proper’ talking, I truly mean it.” 

“I know. And call me Tavi, please,” they exchange smiles of understanding, and Draco wonders if Tavi can feel it too. The start of something. 

“Mmm!” Harry exclaims from beside Draco, disturbing the moment as he often tends to do (though Draco can never find it in himself to be angry with him). “This is delicious!” He looks back and forth between Alex and Tavi. “What is this?” 

“ _Arni me patates-,_ ” Alex says.

“-which is a fancy Greek way of saying ‘lamb with potatoes,’” Tavi interjects slyly, smirking at Alex. 

“You never let me have that one,” Alex whines playfully. Tavi picks up her hand and kisses it. 

They smile at each other in serene contentment, as if Draco and Harry are no longer in the room. There’s so much love there. The forever kind of love that most people can only long for. Draco steals a glance at Harry and finds him glancing back. They both drop their gazes and Draco feels his cheeks heat up, knowing he’d been caught, in more ways than one. Then Harry wraps his foot around Draco’s ankle, and any doubts Draco may have had fly out the window and into the sea. 

** 

After dinner (Harry was right, Alex certainly knew her way around a kitchen), the four of them settle into the small living room - Harry and Draco on the loveseat and Tavi and Alex each in their own armchairs. 

Harry, probably to ease the building tension of the discussion waiting to happen, casts an _incendio_ at the fireplace and enormous flames shoot from the grate, nearly singeing the arm of the couch. Without batting an eye, Draco lazily flicks his wands to subdue the flames into quiet submission, flickering safely inside the fireplace. 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, hands shaking from the shock of nearly burning down the tiny cabana. Draco puts his steady hands on Harry’s to soothe him. But Tavi and Alex look only mildly surprised - Alex even appears slightly impressed.

Tavi considers Harry thoughtfully. “You really are as powerful as they say, aren’t you.” 

Harry looks at his feet in shame. He never was good at accepting praise and attention, as Draco has come to discover contrary to the assumptions of his eleven year old self. 

“So you know who he is, then?” Draco asks Tavi.

“I cut ties with my family before either or you were born, but I never cut ties with the wizarding world itself. It was very brave of you to take on Voldemort at only seventeen years old,” for some reason she looks back and forth between the both of them when she says the last part. 

“It’s not like I had much of a choice in the matter,” Harry says, still refusing to look up from his feet. 

“There’s always a choice. You just never considered the wrong one. That's the sign of a good man, Harry.” 

“He’s just been having a bit of trouble containing his magic since the Final Battle,” Draco explains, trying to change the subject. 

“You are a good match for him, with your control,” Alex observes, smiling at Draco. Draco smiles back in gratitude before turning his attention to Tavi. 

“So you cut ties with our family. Why, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Of course not, I owe you an explanation if nothing else,” Tavi replies easily. “I left the family mostly because I met Alex and, as you can imagine, the dear old Malfoys did not approve of me courting a muggle, let alone a girl,” she rolls her eyes as if this were nothing but a minor inconvenience, but Alex shifts in her chair. Tavi seems to pick up on Alex’s discomfort because she turns to her wife and says “tell them how we met, Alex, I love how you tell it.” 

Alex smiles thankfully at Tavi and clears her throat. “We were both seventeen and our families were on holiday in France. Avignon. The first time I saw her,” she smiles, mind miles away, “I thought she was a sun goddess.” Tavi laughs at that, high and ringing and yeah, Draco can see it. 

“She was sat at the edge of the Rhône with a daffodil tucked behind her ear, standing out against her hair. It was so much longer then,” she sighs wistfully, “beautiful pale blonde. _Chryso mou._ ” They exchange private smiles and Alex takes Tavi’s hand. 

“She was sitting on an old wooden dock, legs dangling off the edge and toes just barely skimming the water, causing small ripples in the river. She was already causing tidal waves in my chest. I knew I needed to talk to her.”

“I was off in my own little world,” Tavi picks up seamlessly where Alex leaves off, “drawing in the sketchbook I took everywhere when I was that age. She startled me so bad when she came up and started talking that my clumsy arse fell into the river, sketches and all!” 

All four of them start laughing at the image and Tavi has to stop to catch her breath before continuing: “Alex had to help me out of the water and she kept apologizing over and over again in her thick accent and I’m just standing there like a drowned cat and I start laughing my arse off. I thought I’d scared her off by coming off as a loon, but she started right on laughing too. And that’s when I knew.” 

“That’s a beautiful story,” Harry says and oh Merlin, he sounds choked up. What a sap. Nonetheless, Draco reaches out to pat his boyfriend’s knee consolingly. 

“I’m sorry ours wasn’t as cute as that,” he says with false sympathy. 

“Bollocks,” Harry smirks at him, that familiar glint in his eye, the one he saves only for Draco, “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” 

“How did you two get together, if I may ask?” Alex says. 

“In school,” Draco replies simply.

“It was one of those things that was always meant to happen,” Harry elaborates, never taking his eyes off Draco, “we just fought it pretty hard for the first five years of knowing each other.” 

“That we most certainly did. Tossers, we were.” 

“Still are,” Harry states proudly. 

“Still are,” Draco agrees with a chuckle. 

“What I’m not quite filled in on,” Tavi says, “is what your role in the war was, Draco. I know when I left with Alex, Lucius was already planning on joining the Death Eaters.” 

“He did, he became one of Voldemort’s most trusted followers, in fact,” Draco replies, “and I followed in his footsteps. Got the mark and everything. I wanted to prove my worth to him so badly.” 

Tavi nods her empathy. “I remember how Lucius would be with affection. Not to mention his stubborn pride.” 

Alex speaks up then, “but if you were one of this Voldy-mort’s followers and Harry was against him, how were you able to have a relationship?” 

“Harry saw what a bad place I was in and offered my mother and I safety. So we turned spy for Harry’s side and didn’t tell anyone. Including Father. Which is partly why-” Draco breaks off suddenly, not wanting to say it. It was still too raw. 

So Harry steps up and does it for him, rubbing small circles into Draco’s back all the while. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Tavi, but Lucius… killed himself. After he was found guilty in his Death Eater trial and Draco and Narcissa were cleared of all charges.”

Tavi’s eyes gloss over, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “He must have been in so much pain over what he’d done,” she whispers, “Oh Lucius.” 

“Can you… tell me about him? When he was young?” Draco asks hesitantly. 

“Of course,” Tavi agrees, “we were so close growing up, attached at the hip. I was born a squib, actually, which was part of my decision to leave the wizarding world behind when I became of age. But Lucius helped me hide it for years, even through Hogwarts. We both knew I would be disowned if our parents found out. When we were young, Lucius would do a lot of accidental magic. If our parents weren’t in the room, he would always say it was me. Then when we got to Hogwarts he studied and practiced Transfiguration tirelessly so he could transform his features into mine to take practical exams with, and he would turn me into him to take written exams, which I was always better at. True Ravenclaw, I was,” she puffs out her chest proudly. “But we were twins and always looked a bit alike so it wasn’t too difficult to fool professors. I’m sure Dumbledore and Flitwick saw right through us, but they never said anything.” 

“Wow,” Draco says, a little overwhelmed by this new information, “I never knew my father could be so…” 

“Caring?” Tavi chuckles dryly, like she’s sharing an inside joke with Draco, “he wasn’t, not usually. But he always was with me. ‘Little sister’ he always called me. Bullshit, honestly, because I was only about two minutes younger than him, but nonetheless. He cared.” 

Draco nods, taking it in. His father cared for him too, in his own way, Draco knows. 

“And he cared deeply for Narcissa,” Tavi continues, as if reading Draco’s mind, “as soon as he met her, he would do anything for her. It was quite the case of puppy love.” 

Draco smiles, glad to hear that. He always had a seed of worry that his parents did not care much for each other, due to their marriage being arranged and their general lack of open affection for each other. But Draco assumes his father had his own way of showing that, too. 

They spend the rest of the night exchanging stories of Lucius Malfoy. Draco shares a gem from when he was very young and got his training broom stuck in a tall tree. They were on a part of the Manor grounds that was a dead zone for magic so Lucius had to physically climb the tree, dress robes and all, to retrieve the broom. When he got back down, his hair looked like a rat’s nest and his robes were coated in twigs and leaves, but he didn’t complain once. Draco always appreciated him for that. 

Tavi tells a story involving a smuggled hinkypunk hiding out in the prefect’s bathroom, a toad diversion, Professor McGonagall, and an almost-too-close call. Everyone is in stitches by the end of that one and Draco now has a new perspective on his father, one that involves a fair bit of schoolboy mischief, surprisingly. 

After a while, Draco notices there are only embers left of the fire. He checks the time and discovers that it’s already well past midnight. They exchange their goodbyes and promises to come over again the following afternoon for tea. 

“That certainly was… not what I expected,” Harry states when they collapse back onto the bed in their own cabana. Draco snorts at the colossal understatement. 

“Yes, I definitely did not expect to face so many emotions tonight. Or meet a new estranged family member.” 

“You know, Tavi and Alex have a really good setup here. It’s a nice way to set up a life, calm and peaceful and doing what you love with the person you love. I could get used to that.” 

Draco leans in and kisses him. “Me too.” Harry smiles and kisses him back.

“Does this mean you’re serious about not becoming an Auror?” 

“Yeah,” Harry admits quietly, probably feeling ashamed for belying the expectations of the rest of the wizarding world, as if they have any kind of say in how Harry Potter chooses to live his life. “I’ve been chasing down the bad guys for seven years straight. I’d like a break from it, I think. Plus now I have something worth living for.” And that’s that. 

They fall asleep in each other’s arms that night, and the next night, and the next. Neither of them have any nightmares. 

**

On the last day of their stay at the cabana, Harry and Draco are woken up by a knock on the door.

“Wassah?” Harry mumbles, sitting up and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. 

“It's the door, you sod,” Draco says (fond, always fond). He’s already out of bed and throwing on sweatpants so he doesn’t accidentally flash his aunt, whom he supposes is the one knocking. He grabs one of Harry’s ghastly faded t-shirts (it’s comfortable Harry, fuck off) and goes to answer the door. 

The first thing Draco sees is the wicked smirk dominating Tavi’s face, and he knows she can see right through them. 

“Good night?” she asks innocently, scanning from Draco’s sex-mussed hair down to the fresh love bite on his exposed collarbone. 

Draco can feel himself blushing and can imagine how guilty he looks but then Tavi leans in and says with a wink: “Me too.” 

Draco chuckles good-naturedly, “I know we’re family and all but some things need to be kept in the bedroom.”

Tavi smiles widely at the mention of family. “I’m so glad you and Harry joined us this week, Draco. I feel like you’ve filled the void in me that Lucius left all those years ago.” 

Draco is left kind of speechless. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone he connected with so quickly and seamlessly. Like they were always meant to find each other. He feels arms wrap loosely around his stomach and a chin hook over his shoulder. 

“And thank you so much for your kindness, Tavi,” his boyfriend says from beside him, stifling a yawn. 

“Of course, Harry, you boys were model guests,” Tavi says genially, “now, Draco, I know you’ll be apparating out soon. I’m glad I caught you before I did. I received this today.” She holds out a letter and Draco looks down at is and gasps because that’s-

“Father’s handwriting. But how-?” He looks up at her, gaping, not daring to hope. “How is this possible?”

She shakes her head sadly, as if already two steps ahead of Draco’s thought processes. “There’s a small owlery in town that receives all of my post. Can’t have owls flying in and out of the cabana, may scare off guests,” she explains. “Problem is, it’s about a two hour walk so I don’t get up there often.” 

Draco’s trying to listen to her but he cant stop looking at the letter, at his father’s handwriting. For a second the ink looks fresh, as if Lucius had just finished carving the elegant ‘y’ of ‘Malfoy’ in the grandiose way he always had. He’s brought back by Harry lightly pinching his side. 

“He’s gone, babe,” Harry whispers in his ear, and for some reason it doesn’t sound as horrible. 

“It was addressed to me, as you can see, so I read it this morning. I think he - Draco I think he wrote it on the day he -” and her voice breaks before she can continue, but Draco knows what she means to say. Tears well up in those expressive grey eyes, so alike Draco’s but so different at the same time. 

“Anyway,” she says, attempting to collect herself (Draco wishes she wouldn’t - she needs time to grieve too, after all). “I really think he would want you to read it.” 

Draco nods wordlessly, saying everything he needs to say in the look he gives Octavia. _Thank you. For the letter, for the stories, for the new perspective, for the healing._ He takes the parchment with shaky hands. Harry imperceptibly tightens his grip around Draco’s waist, just enough for him to feel grounded. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says, backing away from the threshold, “it was a great pleasure meeting the both of you and know that you’ll always have a place here with us should you need it.” 

Harry nods in gratitude. Draco looks up from the letter and meets Octavia’s gaze once more. “You and Alex should come to England sometime,” he says, “To see my mother and Aunt Andromeda. I really think you’d get on. And of course you’d have a place to stay.” 

Tavi smiles. “That’s very gracious of you, Draco, thank you. I’d quite like to see Narcissa and Andromeda again too.” 

“Take care, Tavi,” Harry says, “and give Alex our best as well, would you?” 

“Of course,” and she’s turning away to walk back up the beach. 

“Wait!” She turns around sharply at Draco’s shout and before he even knows what he's doing he's running up to her and throwing his arms around her in a tight embrace. He feels like a child, but fuck it. He never had her as an actual child and he’s got her now and he doesn’t want to take her for granted. 

She stills in shock but quickly reciprocates, hugging him back just as tightly. “Be true to yourself, Draco,” she whispers to him. He nods into her hair, “I’ll try.” And he will, he knows it. 

**

They’re back in Grimmauld Place and Draco is sitting on the moth-eaten sofa, nearly catatonic, the unread letter burning a hole through his knees and his eyes burning a hole through the letter. He has half a mind to just _incendio_ it, in fact. 

“Draco, you have to read it eventually,” Harry says, doing that uncanny mind reading thing again. Draco sighs. 

“I know. I do, and I am, I just-” he can’t finish the sentence. 

“It’s the last part of him, kind of,” Harry observes, “You think that after this, he’ll be done. Gone. But he’s not, Draco. He never will be. As lame as it sounds, you will carry a piece of him with you forever. And reading this letter will help you make peace with that.” 

Harry really is more clever than Draco gives him credit for, sometimes. He takes a few deep breaths, then slips the parchment out of the embossed envelope and unfolds it. It’s shorter than he expected it to be - Draco guesses he had other things on his mind that day. 

_My Dearest Octavia,_

__

__

_I must begin this letter with an apology. A large one. I’m so sorry I haven’t kept in touch these past years. You reached out to me when you first got to Kythira, and I was too terrified of what Father would do if he found out I had kept in contact with you. It’s no excuse for how I isolated you, but it’s the only one I have, and the decision has caused me incredible pain every day since you left._

_Poor decisions are what led me to write you today. Not to say that this act in itself is a poor choice - in fact it’s most likely one of the best that I have made in years. You see, I made bedfellows with all of the wrong people. The power was intoxicating, and I got in too deep without thinking about how much I was hurting those around me, namely my wife and son._

_You remember Narcissa Black, don’t you? We were engaged shortly after you left and together we have one son, Draco. Oh, Octavia, how I wish you could meet him. He is so much like you when you were eighteen, all passion and wit with a heavy control over both. It stifles him sometimes, I fear. But I hope he grows out of the strict rigidity I spent so long drilling into him. That is one of my many regrets as a father. Becoming my own father, essentially. I hope you grew out of it too, Octavia. I hope you were able to break free._

_Today I found out that my own son went behind my back to do what was undoubtedly the right thing. It was foolish and dangerous and took an indelible amount of courage, but he did it because he knew better than I what was best. And part of me wants to be angry with him, my heir, for disobeying me and everything the name “Malfoy” stands for. But I cannot be, for I am simply too proud of him. And that causes me inner turmoil and a longing for rebellion that I have not felt since you and I were teenagers._

_However, the weight of my many many mistakes has come crashing down on my shoulders. I am afraid it is becoming too heavy for me to bear. And I have no one to ask for help, because they are all my own doing, and no one else should have to feel the burden of my wrongdoings._

_I wish I could have made things right between us, Octavia. I really do. And I hope you and Alex have made a beautiful life for yourselves._

_Au Revoir,  
Lucius_

His father had been… proud of him. That was the last thing Draco expected to read in Lucius’s final words. And yet, it was the best parting gift he could’ve asked for. Draco has been so distressed over the thought of betraying his father and family line beyond repair, and that being the cause of his father’s decision to kill himself. 

“You were right,” Draco says aloud after a while, voice thick with emotion, “he was too ashamed of his own choices to go on living. He was- he was proud of me.” 

“Of course he was, Draco,” Harry said consolingly. “You showed outstanding bravery during the war. No parent would feel anything but pride by having a son like you.” 

“I know,” whispers Draco, lightly running his fingers along his father’s quillstrokes on the page. And he does. He thanks his father, wherever he may be right now, for his pride. And for leaving the flap of wallpaper in his study slightly curled up, because some part of Draco knows that finding that notebook was no accident. 

The thought comforts him, and he curls up on the sofa next to the love of his life, ready to plan their future together, free from the burdens and pains of their past. They’re both going to be okay, Draco knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos appreciated, you can also find me on tumblr [@foxpatronus](http://foxpatronus.tumblr.com)


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